Give It to Me
by lajulie
Summary: On a mission for the Resistance, it pays to look the part. Jaina, Poe, Finn, and Rey go undercover to a club to get some intel and find that the right outfit and a little Force intuition come in handy. A side story in the Epic Love 'verse (TFA/Sequel Trilogy fix-it). Written for the 2019 Attack of the Clothes A Prompt By Another Name Fanworks Anthology.


_Written for the Attack of the Clothes A Prompt By Another Name Fanworks Anthology (attackoftheclothes on Tumblr), with the clothing prompts featured on the Aotclothes Pinterest site under Aotclothes/anthology-prompts/34-tinker-spy/. Part of the Epic Love 'verse (TFA/Sequel Trilogy fix-it)._

_Thanks to my beta otterandterrier for all the encouragement and support while writing this, and many thanks to the attackoftheclothes Anthology mods for putting together the prompts and organizing the anthology._

* * *

**Give It to Me**

The Glow Dome was pulsing, throbbing like the blood rushing to a bandaged wound. Even blocks away, the beat of the music rumbled through their chests as they approached, syncing with the click of Jaina's heels against the pavement.

As the four of them drew closer to the nightspot, its lights a sharp contrast to the dimly lit warehouses in this district of the city, Poe could sense both Finn and Rey hesitating, trying to brace themselves for their entrance and the mission ahead.

_In and out. We got this._

They'd both be fine, Poe knew—Finn had gotten quite good at the undercover thing over the last year or so, slipping into and out of a number of First Order installations undetected, and Rey's major issue tonight was not so much the parameters of the mission itself as her attire for the evening. It wasn't that the tight black pants and silver sequined crop top were particularly revealing, but to a woman used to blending into the desert sands or donning a flight suit, they evidently felt…rather conspicuous.

"Gotta look the part," Han Solo had told her, back at the ship. "Everyone else looks flashy and you don't, you're gonna make people notice you. And you don't want that."

That advice had helped Rey relax a bit, but Poe could tell she was still a little uneasy. She was walking beside Jaina, nearly matching her sister's pace but still hanging back a bit.

Poe wouldn't exactly have chosen his ensemble for himself either, but it was both about as far from a Resistance uniform as you could get, and surprisingly practical. The base layer was basically a large white tee, covered by a transparisteel-look vinyl overshirt with gathered sleeves and a black cowl neck. His main accessory, a black Y-yoked carryall, seemed primarily geared toward carrying cards full of credits, but it had a secret compartment or two that would hopefully be filled with a data chip by the end of the night.

Probably the most daring part of the outfit was the pants—tight, black, and decked out with a strategically placed pouch on one thigh and rows of straps running down each leg.

("Nice ass, Dameron," Jaina had commented earlier, helping him fasten the straps and fix the tension on the drawstrings against his hips.

"Thanks, Sticks. Grew it myself," he'd shot back.)

He'd been pleasantly surprised at how little noise the outfit made, initially having feared that the vinyl overshirt might make stealth a bit difficult. Apparently the person outfitting them for missions these days had been one of the top independent holofilm costume designers in the galaxy before the First Order had taken over her home city, and he could see why. Even if he did feel a little bit like a fighter pilot from an alternate universe.

Ahead of him, Jaina slowed down a bit and turned around, raising one sharply-drawn eyebrow in his direction. "Y'think Hazizah and Tohn go in first, Boss?" she asked, already switching to her and Rey's names for the mission.

Poe nodded. "Good call," he said, and Jaina looped her arm with Rey's, pulling them ahead together toward the velvet rope at the entrance.

Just nineteen, Jaina had only been on a handful of missions like this one since enlisting last year, but at moments like this it was easy to forget her relative youth and inexperience. Poe wasn't sure if it was some Jedi thing, or her upbringing, or what, but she was a natural at these sorts of scenarios. Once Jaina had the mission parameters, she moved forward with her part confidently and didn't look back.

Even if she didn't technically always _follow_ all the mission parameters.

"Stick to the damn brief," Solo had warned her before the four of them had left the ship.

"Did I say I wouldn't?" she'd protested.

"Seen that look before," he'd said, "right before someone decides the mission brief is more of a _suggestion_. Must be genetic."

"Okay, _Jan_," she'd said, eliciting a deeper scowl from her father and a guffaw from Chewie, who was waiting back at the ship as well.

* * *

Arm-in-arm, Jaina and Rey had easily made it past the bouncer, and a little play-acting with Finn and Poe ("Jorn! Nico! What are you doing here? Oh, it's okay, they're with us") had gotten them in as well, until all four were enveloped in the deep bass and smoky air of the Dome, as it was known locally.

With the lights and mirrors and the beat thundering through the room, it could be a bit overwhelming, from a sensory standpoint. Rey looked a little dazed, and had started fiddling with one of her false eyelashes.

Jaina took stock of their group. This certainly wasn't going to get them any closer to their objective, standing around the entrance together like a bunch of noobs. _Let's get this show on the road_.

"Look bored," Jaina advised Rey. "I'm going to get a drink."

She shot Poe a quick look—just another eyebrow raise, but his subtle nod told her he'd caught it—and strode toward the bar to do a little recon.

_Move with purpose. Act like you own the place, like you belong here, like you were just here last week_. Handy tips for fitting in to unfamiliar situations, from a former smuggler to his daughter. Good for faking it until you were making it, pretending you knew just what to do even when you had no kriffing idea. Pretty decent advice overall, Jaina had to admit.

She was a little sorry for that barb she'd left him with, comparing him with the general whose overprotective concern for her mother had been the bane of her parents' early relationship. But he was going to lecture her on mission protocol? Ha!

Her outfit had definitely thrown him off. _Good_, she thought defiantly. She nearly laughed aloud, recalling his face when she'd stepped out from the ship's 'fresher to show off her look, watching him visibly strain with the effort to _say nothing, say nothing_, until she'd practically dared him with a demanding "What?"

He'd paused again before finally sputtering, "It's just straps!"

He wasn't entirely wrong. Straps did seem to be the defining element of the garment, from the cluster of three black straps that encircled the waist, to the slightly wider ones (one solid, the other mostly lace) that covered her breasts, to the patchwork of black velvet, black matte, and sheer black lace that enclosed her legs. It was daring and sexy and powerful, and the Jaina in another life—one in which her concerns centered more around nightlife and less around, say, securing intel to keep her evil Sith brother and his fascist friends from killing them all and enslaving the galaxy—would have wanted to live in it. Hells, _this_ Jaina kind of wanted to live in it.

"It's a jumpsuit," she'd corrected. "And a disguise. Gotta look the part, right?"

It was surprisingly comfortable, too. _That new costumer is no joke._

At the bar, she ordered a ruby bliel and leaned on the bar slightly as she waited, reaching out with her senses to get a read on the place and try to see where this contact they were waiting on might be lurking. She kind of wanted to dance; no, she really wanted to dance, but they'd only just arrived on the scene here and that's not quite what they'd come for.

Not long after her drink arrived, she found herself flanked by a human and a Miralan, both men. They struck up a conversation, or at least what passed for conversation in a place where you could barely hear yourself think over the loud music.

"HAVEN'T SEEN YOU HERE BEFORE, BEAUTIFUL! NEW IN TOWN?" the Miralan asked, leaning toward her.

It was difficult to be coy while pretty much shouting, but Jaina did her best. "OH, I'VE JUST BEEN AWAY FOR A WHILE…"

* * *

Poe couldn't help a small grin as he caught sight of Rey and Finn coming down the stairs from the upper level dance floor. Finn's arm was around Rey, and she was leaning on his shoulder slightly, her silver sequins illuminating both their faces. Entirely mission-appropriate, but also entirely them.

_Funny, how pretending to be someone else can make you even more yourself._ They were pretty affectionate with one another on base, but less outwardly so. He got why—things on base felt so public sometimes, and people gawked at them enough already, given the extraordinary events that had brought them both to the Resistance—but it was nice seeing them together like this.

Even if it made him feel vaguely…wistful.

He brushed that thought away and went back to the task at hand. After Jaina had swung by to give him an initial read of the main floor (three official exits, all with bouncers; two 'freshers on each side, at least one of which had an attendant; a scaffold behind the main DJ stage; a door off the main area that appeared to lead to an employee lounge or similar; and two back areas that could indicate either a dead end or another exit), he'd elected to check out one of the back areas and had asked her to cover the other. Actually, he hadn't actually had to ask—a couple of words from him, and she seemed to understand exactly what he'd had in mind.

Was that some Jedi getting into your head thing? _No_, he thought immediately. _Jaina wouldn't do that._ For all that she seemed to revel in pushing boundaries, he knew from personal experience that she had hard and fast rules about that sort of thing. She wouldn't touch someone's mind—and especially not Poe's—without invitation.

He moved carefully to investigate the back passage, wishing he had his regular blaster. He had a holdout blaster concealed at his waist, but it wasn't quite the same as having it ready to go.

He followed the passage to another back corridor, which opened up into a large sort of backstage area, with catwalks running from one end to the other. He could see one of them that led to the main DJ booth, and another that led to what appeared to be a small office. There was a set of lockers along another wall, flanked by some audio equipment, speakers and the like.

The contact had been vague, because apparently the last time they'd attempted to share this intel with the Resistance, one of their own contacts had set them up, and they'd narrowly escaped the First Order spies sent after them. So this time, the contact might approach them directly, or they might leave the datachip in a "safe place" for them to retrieve.

Thus, the benefits of having three Force-sensitive people on this mission.

If the contact didn't show, where was the most likely "safe place"? The lockers? The office? Time was ticking by, and with it the likelihood that they contact had moved on. Or worse, been caught.

The telltale click of a blaster's safety sounded beside Poe's head.

"Let's talk."

_Worse. Definitely worse._

* * *

Jaina was feeling pretty flush at the moment; she was almost sort of enjoying the throb of the music, even though she'd hadn't had an opportunity to dance.

Well, she'd been invited, but as attractive as the Miralan had been, she wouldn't have been interested even if she were currently available. And the human man had quickly displayed that possessive quality that was an immediate turnoff, as if she were a slab of nerf steak instead of a sentient being.

Technically she wasn't supposed to be using the Force for anything but reconnaissance on this mission, but when he'd tried to grab her ass, she'd rather enjoyed watching him suddenly decide to go home and rethink how he treated women. His friend, much less weak-minded than he, had been rather stunned by the sudden change of heart and had followed behind him, mouth agape.

And now Jaina was fairly certain she'd found their contact.

The passage Poe had her check out was fairly nondescript, but led to a service area behind one of the bars. Looking through the service area, she could see one particular patron dead ahead. The woman, who was staring back at Jaina, gave one subtle nod and then returned to nursing her drink.

Should she intercept the contact herself? Bring in Poe?

_Shit, Poe_. She had a bad feeling about this.

* * *

At least these bastards hadn't figured out who he was. Who they were. Though it was only a matter of time, Poe supposed.

No, irony of ironies, he was not being held because they knew anything about this mission or who Poe was, but because there was a rumor that a certain smuggler who had supposedly perished on Starkiller Base was, in fact, alive. And there were a few bounty hunters who were interested in that information, given that Kanjiklub and the Guavian Death Gang were paying.

_Not sure how I'm gonna get out of this one_. Part of him wanted Jaina, Rey, and Finn to burst through the door to his rescue, and the other part wanted them as far away as possible. And he was feeling oddly protective of Han Solo right about now, which would have been sort of funny if the situation hadn't been so dire.

As he was contemplating that, about three different things happened at once: a loud bang from one of the ducts above their heads, making everyone turn their heads; the main door swinging open; and the blasters in his captors' hands suddenly—_not_ in their hands.

In moments, Finn had subdued the main captor, while Rey was unbinding Poe's hands.

"Blaster?" offered Jaina casually, and Poe took it.

* * *

"Sorry, kid," Han said, handing Poe a bottle of ale, "the good stuff's all back on the _Falcon_."

"This'll do," Poe said. "Thanks."

Jaina popped the cap off her own ale and sat down beside him. Her hair was out of the high ponytail she'd been wearing in the club, and she pulled it to one side to get it out of her way. She'd also put on her flight jacket over the jumpsuit; it was cold on the ship.

She offered up her bottle in a toast, and Poe clinked it with his.

"Finn and Rey went to bed," Jaina said, answering Poe's unsaid question. "While you were in the 'fresher washing all that makeup off." She ran a thumb across his brow. "Well, almost all of it."

"Thanks," Poe said. "For—" He made a vague motion that he hoped would convey, _everything_. They'd gotten the datachip, escaped the bounty hunter, even managed to leave the club without causing a firefight or necessitating a high-speed chase.

Jaina just nodded. It looked like the adrenaline of the moment was leaving her; she was exhausted.

"You're really good at this, y'know," he noted.

"I know," she said, a bit of a smile returning to her face.

Poe laughed, and leaned back. "Always so modest, Sticks."

"Wait till I kick your ass in the sims when we get back. Then I'll _modestly_ rub your face in it."

Poe tipped his ale to her again. "I look forward to it."


End file.
